


In Our Bedroom After the War

by Starofwinter



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Healing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slice of Life, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starofwinter/pseuds/Starofwinter
Summary: Rex survived the end of the war, but not unscathed.  Now, the battle to find himself begins.





	In Our Bedroom After the War

Rex opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling and the play of the artificial dawn light over the surface.  He doesn’t want to get up.  He almost never does.  Once he’s out of bed, he can keep going, but it’s that first push that’s always the hardest.  He shoves himself up to sit at the edge of his bunk - his  _ bed _ , he has an actual bed now, soft and fluffy and full of blankets and pillows, what he’d always wanted back in the GAR - and reaches for the bottle of pills.  His time isn’t as regulated as it was back in the army, so it’s easier to remember to take them on time if he does it as soon as he wakes up.  

Rex reaches for his cane, using it to balance while he pushes himself to his feet.  The doctors - real doctors, he misses the gruff field medics sometimes, they didn’t lie to him - tell him he should be able to walk without the thing soon, but they’ve been saying that for a couple of weeks now, and he isn’t sure he believes them anymore.  He’s used to the damn thing now, so as much as he hates it, he can live with it.  Better that than losing the leg completely; that had been a close call.   

He checks his ‘pad as he drinks weak caff.  He misses the caff Jesse always brewed, dark and thick and  _ strong _ .  Civvie shit never held up, and they can’t get the good military grade stuff now that they’re out.  Dex’s comes close, and he makes a mental note to stop by the diner sometime soon.  Kriff, he’s got an appointment with Gregor this afternoon, he can’t miss another session, or they’ll send Ahsoka to guilt him into going.

It’s not that Rex doesn’t like Gregor - he’s a good man, and he understands better than most what it’s like being back, but-  Well, it’s not the same.  Gregor has a way to  _ help _ , he’s got a responsibility now, and Rex… doesn’t.  He’d been a  _ Captain _ .  He led companies into battle, and he’d lived for the adrenaline rush, as much as he wouldn’t like to admit that.  He was doing something  _ important _ .  Now he’s got a job as a desk jockey, and his title, whatever the hells it is, is just so much  _ osik _ .  

Civilian life isn’t all bad, really.  He’s getting used to the creature comforts he’d never had during the war, and he has to admit, he enjoys having a little free time to catch up on holos and read.  Gregor’s suggested getting an animal - a massif or a tooka, something to look after and be responsible for - but he hasn’t quite decided he’s ready for that step.  It might help his apartment and his chest feel a little less hollow, so… maybe one of these days, he will.

Rex finishes his breakfast - another thing he’s had to get used to, he actually took cooking classes to learn how to make something that’s not rations; he’s a decent cook, not as good as Tup and Fives, but he can feed himself - and takes a moment to set the dishes to soak.  He’ll get to them at some point.  He has plenty of time, it’s a day off, and there’s nothing to do till that damned appointment later. 

He goes through the mechanics of getting dressed first.  Rex still thinks of them as his civvies, even if his closet’s got more choices now, and none of them are the blacks he was so used to wearing when he wasn’t in armor.  He picks the heaviest, softest ones out of the bunch, because dammit, if he’s going to be seeing Gregor today, he’s going to be as comfortable as he can get.  It takes more work and patience than he likes to get into the clothes, a delicate balance between himself, his fucked up leg, and the kriffing cane, but he manages it.  He has to sit down for a little while afterward to gather strength again, much to his frustration.

He’s got some time before he needs to get to Gregor’s, and he putters around the apartment, cleaning it up a little.  Rex still isn’t used to the feeling of free time - sure, he’d had time between missions and waiting around for everything to go to hell, but even his free time during the war had been busy; he’d had a company to look after, reports to fill out, two active Jedi to chase after, and a war to run.  Now… there’s nothing.  He can fill his time, but it always just feels a little dull.  Unfamiliar.  Boring.

Finally, he can leave for Gregor’s office.  It’s close to the old barracks, and Rex is half-tempted to stop by and see the boys, but maybe after.  

He likes Gregor, most of the time.  Gregor doesn’t bullshit him, doesn’t tell him it’s all okay, doesn’t coddle him and say nice words that don’t mean shit.  Gregor knows everything is still mostly fucked, he knows what it’s like to still hear the mortars hitting, knows what it means to wake up screaming and fight the urge to crawl under the bed because it’s the only place that feels  _ safe _ .  

But Gregor calls him the fuck out, too.  He challenges Rex, makes him think, makes him take those little steps that mean that one day, he’ll sleep through the night most nights, and he’ll be something other than a soldier or a weapon or a captain.  He’ll be able to walk down the street in civvies without aching for the familiar weight and safety of his armor.  He’ll be able to look in a mirror and see a man, not a soldier.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t resent the pushing sometimes too, though.  Sometimes he  _ wants _ to be left to stew in his ugly memories, because they’re familiar, and they’re all he really has.  Gregor gets that too.  Rex can see it in the tilt to his head, the grim smile he wears sometimes.  He knows Gregor’s story, and he knows he’s trying to help, so he cuts him some slack and tries not to be an asshole.

It’s a good session, for what it’s worth.  Gregor is pleased with the progress he’s made, even if Rex personally thinks it’s a load of osik, and they talk about next steps, and what Rex can do in the next week.  He does it, usually.  Some weeks, not much gets done, and he tries to explain himself to Gregor, but it always falls flat.  Gregor never judges him for it, and that just makes Rex feel guiltier.  

This time though, he can say that he managed to journal every day - even if he hated every second - and he got out of bed at a (mostly) reasonable time, even when he wasn’t working.  He even commed Ahsoka to meet for caff and catching up, though he commed her later to ask to reschedule because he couldn’t stand the thought of her seeing him like this.  

This week, he agrees to set up a meeting with the vod that trains support animals, and he’ll keep spilling memories and rambling pain and helpless fury into his journal.  That’s the part he’s struggling with the most.  He’s still so  _ angry _ at the galaxy, and at how helpless he feels, now that he’s not anything but another officer behind a desk, and stuck here on Coruscant instead of out rebuilding with his company.

Gregor listens, and he’s sympathetic, he is.  Rex knows there aren’t many that will get what he means, but Gregor  _ does _ .  Gregor’s tone is calm and stern as he asks, “And what are you going to do about it?”

“What am I-  What the fuck  _ can _ I do about it?” Rex snaps back, surprised at his own furious voice.  The therapy tooka in his lap looks up at him, and he takes a deep breath before stroking its ears again.

Gregor doesn’t flinch, just looks at him with a steady gaze.  “Yeah.  You and I both know there’s plenty you can do, bad leg or no, that isn’t just sitting at a desk - I know you’ve had offers.  You’re a leader, Rex, and a good one.  You could do a lot of good in the galaxy, but you’re letting them stick you behind a desk and file reports like you aren’t Captain Rex of the 501st.  So… what are you going to do?”

Rex clenches his jaw.  Gregor isn’t wrong, he  _ has _ had offers, for rehabbing other vode - he can’t do that, not when he’s so far from alright himself; for teaching - he’s no teacher, he just knows the way they were trained; for…

“Those sound like excuses to me, vod.”  Gregor’s voice is gentle, but Rex growls anyway.  Mostly because he knows he’s right.  “Why are you holding yourself back?  What put the binders on you?”

Rex goes quiet as he says, “Because I’m scared.”  He’s scared of who he is outside the GAR.  He’s tried so hard to be a perfect soldier that he doesn’t really know what it means to just be a man, and he tells Gregor as much.

“Rex, look at me.  It’s alright to be scared.  All this out here?  Civilian life?  We weren’t prepared for it.  We weren’t trained for this.  We’ve gotta retrain ourselves, and I’m not going to lie, it’s damned scary osik.  But you’re a warrior.  You can beat this too.  We adapt to the terrain, don’t we?”  Rex just nods.  “So we adapt to this.  I want you to make a list of what scares you most about being a civilian, and bring that back next time.  We’ll work on ways to deal with that once we know what we’re looking at, yeah?”

Rex nods again, swallowing hard.  “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good man.”  Gregor smiles and stands up, but he doesn’t offer Rex a hand until he’s on his feet.  

* * *

 

While the session had ended alright, Rex still feels exhausted, like he’s had his chest cracked open and laid bare for Gregor to look through.  He doesn’t stop at the barracks, even though he wants to.  He makes it back to his apartment, leaning against the wall as he rides the lift up, and by the time he makes it to the couch, all he can do is slump onto the couch.  He closes his eyes, just to catch his breath.

He wakes up an hour later to his comm buzzing.  It’s Fives.  He groans a little, but answers anyway.  “Rex.”

“Rex!  Hey, listen.  I know things have been pretty bad lately, but listen, the boys are getting together, and Tup and I were gonna cook, so if you wanted to come… we’d like to see you.  If not, it’s okay-”

“No, no, look- hey, why don’t you lot come over here?  Comm Skywalker and Tano, tell them they’re invited too.”

He can  _ hear _ Fives’ joyful grin in his voice when he says, “You’re sure?”

He has to smile too.  “I’m sure.  Come on, place is ready for you.”

Later, with the apartment full of chatter and vode and  _ life _ , he thinks that maybe this civilian thing isn’t so scary after all.


End file.
